Page 45 of Cruel Deception
After a decade of silence, of secret calls on burner phones, whispered “I miss yous” between borders and fear—
He’s finally coming.
My brother.
Real. Alive.
And minutes away from holding me again.
My breath quickened.
What would he look like now? Would I even recognize him? I’d seen him in patchy video calls, grainy and distant—but seeing someone through a screen isn’t the same as standing inches from them, hearing their voice in the flesh, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between you.
And what would he see when he looked at me?
Would he still see the sister who used to protect him—or the woman I’d become? Married to the enemy. Living behind iron gates. Wearing secrets like second skin. Scarred in ways he couldn’t yet imagine.
A thousand emotions surged through my chest—relief, dread, disbelief, joy.
And under all of it, a small, aching kind of hope.
Because if Vincent was here...
Then maybe I wasn’t alone anymore.
Maybe—for the first time in years—I had someone I could call family.
Chapter 9
CHARLOTTE
The black security jeep rolled to a stop just outside the estate gates, and the moment I spotted him through the tinted glass—tall, suited, real—I broke into a run.
The door opened.
He stepped out, and I crashed into him before he could even take a breath. My arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and to my relief, his arms wrapped back—strong, solid, familiar. After a decade of silence, absence, and fearing the worst, my baby brother was here.
My voice cracked against his shoulder. “Damn... I’ve missed you so much.”
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at me. “Same here,” he said, voice low and a little gruff, though his face was guarded, older than it had any right to be.
He was taller than me now. Broader too. His black suit was crisp, his hair cut short and clean. He looked like a man—like someone who had grown up too fast, forged in fire while I wasn’t looking.
I led him inside, the silence between us tight with everything we hadn’t yet said. In the main living room, I gestured toward the couch. “Sit. Do you want something to drink?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, his body relaxing into the plush leather like he wasn’t sitting in a house owned by a man who would kill without hesitation.
I moved quickly to the kitchen and fixed him a cold glass of mango juice—his favorite as a kid, back when things were simple. I tossed in ice, added a lime slice like I used to, and brought it to him.
He took the glass with a small nod, and I sat beside him, watching the way his fingers curled around the cup. His jaw was sharper now. His eyes, darker. The boy I remembered had vanished.
“How have you been?” I asked, voice soft.
He smiled faintly, took a sip, then set the glass down. “Cool.”
That was all. Just... cool.
Then he turned to face me fully, his tone shifting. “The Morettis are not our allies, Charlotte. Why the hell did you marry into their blood?”
